Fabula Caromed
Belle of the Brawl
- F -
Months away seemed to have done very little to stall out the perpetual motion engine that was the bizarre chemistry of Fabula and Lynn. The first night together had been...interesting, as Fabs seemed to have a bit of a short memory as far as intimacy went. However, waking up in someone else's arms hadn't changed. It was still a blissful feeling, a sensation unto heaven.
Unfortunately, both of them were early risers. As much as it was spectacular to have some time to themselves, eventually Fabula's drive won out over her ability to cuddle, and she decided to wander outside to train in the morning sun.
Loose pants and a tightly-wrapped white cloth to keep her chest under control offered her enough mobility to get a proper grasp on her stances, transitions, and movements. She didn't much mind the lack of modesty; no one would find them here, and there was no part of her body that Lynn didn't already know quite well.
Every movement, slow and gradual, served as a conduit for the Force. Each stance she assumed turned her into a lightning rod of her own internal reservoir of energy. It wasn't the forms themselves that was most important, though they certainly helped.
No, it was the intent behind them, the personal drive to be the absolute best that she could be. Not the best a woman could be, or the best a human could be; the best that Fabula Cavataio could be, and nothing less. Not punching through a board, or jumping over a hedge, but transcending beyond that. Form and function blended into a single, perfect whole. Nothing less would be acceptable.
And, naturally, that left her quite distracted when Lynn finally decided to find out what the buggery Fabs was doing.
- L -
Not that it was any real mystery. One didn't involve herself with a perfect engine of destruction without becoming used to the ways and methods that engine kept itself well-tuned. When Fabula woke up and busied herself, Lynn had allowed herself a couple more minutes of blissful sleep before It began commanding her to stop being so lazy. As It always won, this morning was no exception.
Lynn didn't mind much. This little getaway they'd found on a relatively untouched planet offered a stunning view in every direction. An ancient hardwood forest that might continue forever in every direction - save the south, where it melted away to a beach. Clean air and a flawless sunrise were reasons enough to be here, but Fabula's form highlighted by the rising sun was more than enough reason to get out of bed.
In tight shorts and a simple white top, Lynn took a long moment to appreciate the offered view before stifling a yawn and striding quietly up beside the Dathomari woman. Wordlessly, she went through her own forms - mirroring Fabula's stances and katas, feeling her muscles and joints awaken from a long night of sleep.
- F -
Ah, Lynn. Fabs' muscles almost gave out just by -seeing- her, let alone watching her join in the exercises they'd devised together. If she didn't worry about setting a proper example, she'd be content just to watch Lynn in motion for hours. Days. The idea was enough to set her heart aflutter.
But she didn't have that luxury. So instead, she stretched out. One arm coiled back in a tight flex, opposite arm and leg forward and tensed. She stood in position for a long moment, then looked over to see Lynn and make sure she was properly formed.
Well...she was -obviously- well-formed. But also that.
- L -
Fabula Cavataio was very capable in the ways of the Force - no sapient being could doubt that, with even a cursory knowledge of the woman and what she'd done. Lynn wasn't. Sure, she might be able to make something of herself in an Academy with a decade or so of training, but she was too divided to be a Knight of either side of the spectrum - too familiar with killing to be a Jedi, too principled and controlled to be a Sith. So she hadn't.
Lynn Caromed had killed for a long time, in a great many ways. Granted, her weapons of choice were twin blades, but her body was sharpened just as readily. She took a half-step back and slowly extended her arms over her head. They were brought in, taut and tense, with a breath.
A moment to appreciate the hair-trigger readiness of her body, it's stretching and warming up complete.
And then, motion.
Lynn spun in place and whipped her leg up in a mocha blur, just over Fabula's head: a warning shot. A fighter did not become good at fighting by doing slow poses - they needed to test themselves against worthy opponents. A kick would be as clear a green light as anything else, and Lynn's next spin-kick aimed itself at her lover's midsection.
- F -
There are eddies in the Force, moments and movements that no mortal word can describe. Often, scholars attempt to use the term "ripples," but there is no mass to it. A single sensation, a solitary "ripple," can often say more about how one should react than decades of training. Such awareness came in handy when one's opponent was -already- tensed from stretches.
Fabula easily ducked the first kick, feeling the wind rush past her head as her hair whipped about on Lynn's leg. It probably could've given her quite the bruise if it had landed and also if Fabula's skin wasn't bulletproof and self-repairing. A single quick motion put her out of the way, but also left her vulnerable to Lynn's follow-up.
Rather than attempt to avoid it again, Fabs brought her hand down to grip Lynn's ankle just a bit tightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to stop her still. It was hard to limit her strength so as not to seriously injure her lover, and as such she didn't have a strong enough grip to prevent the other woman from moving.
She did, however, have a strong enough grip to sling her ebony amazon's leg upwards, forcing her into a non-consensual backflip. Fabula quickly took a step back and reset her stance, toughening her flesh to make it less dangerous for the Mandalorian to go all-out. "Second kick was a predictable follow-through. Concentrate on your mix-up."
- L -
"The second kick was a courtesy. You rely on the Force too much - without it, we'd be worth ten of you." Lynn replied blandly, momentarily forgetting that she was one being. That tended to happen. She was more focused on things that weren't not being crazy. Like smoothly landing on her feet in a tight brawler's stance, her hands up and in loose fists.
Like judging her girlfriend's stance. Pondering her next move. It didn't take long - Lynn had been fighting and killing her adult life, after all. Sure, the ripples and acrobatics were a new thing, but Mandolorians were nothing of not proficient in picking up new toys and adding them to a burgeoning arsenal. Ask your Mando friend how many secret bombs and flamethrowers he carries sometime.
No, Lynn was fairly confident that Fabula's edge (and it was an impressive edge) was the Force, and little else. Once she caught up in her proficiency with mystical energy, she'd be able to disabuse Fabula of the notion that she wasn't capable of fighting both their battles on her behalf. That was Lynn's plan, anyway.
She lunged forward, sending a flurry of tight jabs at Fabula's sternum and jaw, temples and nose. "Tighten... your martial skill! You're a sloppy fighter! No finesse!" Lynn replied pointedly, bobbing and weaving like a champion boxer, harrying Fabula's defenses.
- F -
What she lacked in finesse, Fabula made up for in the ability to feel the future and superhuman speed. Her blocks were rudimentary, even ugly, but not a single blow got through. As Lynn's fists came close to coming into contact with the Dathomiri's face, her forearms were simply there, in the way, and far too capable of taking punishment.
Unfortunately, Lynn was right. She had no form at all, apart from the seemingly random stances she assumed to channel her energy. Not a single blow got through, but when Fabula made her counterattack, it was telegraphed and uncoordinated...
And came at about Mach III.
Fabs hoped beyond hope that simple velocity couldn't cause bone fractures, because the little hopping overhead kick that she slung towards Lynn's face. There was no name for it, no theory behind it. She simply waved her foot in the air -REALLY- fast.
When she landed, her expression was just a little pouty. "I know I'm not much of a fighter. But the Force is a greater ally than any mortal martial art." She set back into her stance, hands up close to her face but in no proper form. "If you'd embrace that instead of fighting it, you would be a much greater fighter than me, Lynn."
- L -
If Fabula had sent a punch or a smaller kick that didn't require every muscle in her body to react before it could be sent, this would have been a much shorter post, ending with Lynn's body broken and bleeding under the force of a single blow. Thankfully, Lynn saw the attack coming, and slid to Fabula's left - preventing that same leg from adjusting trajectory and coming for her.
"We have been working on it." Lynn promised. "But it is a temperamental and finicky tool, and I don't like it. A weapon should respond to it's wielder's will - not be defined by and reactionary to it." She took a half-step back, shaking out her hand from the stiffness that'd come from punching a rock-hard woman's forearms. "That is why we're doing this together, isn't it?"
"I learn how to move with your Force - and you learn how to fight!" Lynn darted in again, closing the distance between them - to make whistling kicks harder to pull off. "Tuck in your guard - always defend your face! And tighten your profile, so you present less of a target!" She barked instructions, hands flashing in a series of open-handed and non-lethal (to even a normal human) strikes. Her elbows, however, were the punchline to half of these 'jokes', sharp and hard as steel, driven for the vulnerable throat, eyes and breasts.
- F -
Fabula tried in earnest to actually follow Lynn's advice. When she closed in, Fabula kept her hands over her face and pulled her arms in tight...er. She was still wide and sloppy. And now she couldn't react as fast. It was only through fortune of what Lynn was aiming at that she was able to defend herself with such a tight form.
Fortunately, she didn't really need to defend herself much. The Force pulsed through her like a trillion oscillations of infinite energy. Each blow she took was little more than a thump on her skin, and the elbow strike to her face quite fortunately grazed across her eyebrow to do little more than turn her head a few inches to the side.
Her eye winced for a moment before she pulled back her body to give two heavy punches, wildly in front of her and vaguely in the direction of Lynn's torso. With that out of the way, she took a deep breath and put actual effort into standing back into the stance Lynn had attempted to get her to do, using the motion move her focus just a bit to what might have been a bruise around noon.
It wouldn't be now.
"Lynn, you're thinking too much. Feel. Feel the Force in your body, in your arms. Feel the air, and me." Her fists clinched a little tighter. "You won't get anything done if you don't hit me harder than that, and only through giving yourself over to the Force, letting it guide you, will you find that strength."
- L -
Flowing, Lynn could do. Motion, she could be. But surrendering her body to some metaphysical intuition? Yeah, she struggled with that a little bit. A Mandolorian's body was a machine, her attacks a carefully calculated series of strikes to bring death and victory. How could she read her opponent's form if she was too busy focusing on her own? How could she think steps ahead if she was thinking about inner peace, or whatever nonsense?
But the point was true, that Lynn could beat on Fabula all day and still get nothing done aside from bruising her own hands. That, and get frustrated at a lack of actual instruction. If Fabula had told her to stand or attack a specific way, it would have been easy to follow direction.
"Of COURSE I feel the air." Lynn complained, taking a half step back and switching her tight pugilist's stance into a looser, wider form. With her legs slightly apart and relaxed at the knees, her hands open in front of herself, the Mandolorian woman forced herself to calm down and take a deep breath. Yes, she was frustrated. No, it wasn't Fabula's fault that she was apparently a slow student.
She wished she had her beskar. It was much easier to feel the Force with her blades in hand, which was part of the reason she'd insisted on forgoing them. No crutches.
- F -
Fabula broke into motion like a sonic boom: loud, impossible to ignore, and without anything being there moments ago. She lurched forward in a blink, starting with a punch downwards at Lynn's forehead, another towards the center of her chest, then a quick kick from a standing spin. The whole thing took less than two seconds.
She didn't bother to recover quickly, instead setting her stance in due time. Each of her attacks came with actual power this time, to offset how much slower she'd launched them than before. She practically cut the air with the force of her blows, but hopefully it wouldn't be enough to cause severe pain to Lynn. Hopefully.
"You know the air exists because you feel it on your skin, but you don't feel it within you," Fabula's expression managed something of a tired grin. "You know that I exist because you see and hear me, but you don't feel me in front of you. You have no idea what I'm going to do before I do it."
She straightened up into a neutral stand, no form or function. "Take a moment and focus, Lynn. Use a stance that's important to you; one that your family taught you. Close your eyes and feel yourself."
Fabula practiced as she preached, pressing her hands together in a tight prayer and closing her eyes. It was trivially simple for her to feel her own body; it would've been harder for her to -stop-. "Now extend your senses into the air around you. Your eyes will deceive you. The Force will not."
- L -
All of the breathing exercises in the Universe are ill preparation when a woman comes at you with enough force to casually implode an asteroid. Lynn did her best to keep her one-ness through the first stroke, dipping her head to the side to evade it. The second wasn't so lucky, and all that Force-nonsense disappeared like so much mist as she felt her sternum crack. The impact stunned her, and delayed her reactions - Fabula's kick sent her spinning across the ground like a ragdoll, covered in dust and possibly spraining her wrist.
When she came up - which was the very second she physically could - Lynn grimaced at the pain in her chest and put a hand to it. Same as last time, just not good enough.
Just not good enough.
I may not know or understand the Force, but it has undeniable power. I can feel that power in every limb: not as a wholesome strength, but akin to the dull ache of sexual frustration or a bitter day's work. Most of that is the simple strain of taking two direct hits from a living God.
It quails against her. It hates her and loves her, and when I'm around her, It is confused. She makes me better, but she doesn't deserve what she has. Hard work should always be rewarded, as any Mandolorian knows - so why has she been handed such strength? Such power, she doesn't deserve or use well. The Force gives her might that she uses like a clumsy bludgeon, and thinks herself a warrior, and for this It has nothing but hate for her.
And that hate aches in my belly as though a furnace has been placed there. Hate gives me motivation to stand when I aught to stay down. Pride in my abilities, and resentment that she can never know about. Because I love her.
I care little for what she's saying - it's mostly nonsense. Silly things I barely understand, much less anything I can use. What I can use is the insult that lights a fire. It blazes down my spine and empowers my battered frame, lighting that furnace into a raging inferno. We are sparring - this is a test between fighters, this is training, and it is SACRED. And yet, she prays. She stops, lowers her guard, and dismisses my skill completely.
How dare she.
Our feet are in motion before we know it, legs and arms pumping in time. Although bare feet don't make much noise on soft ground, she'll hear us coming. That's fine. We want that. Maybe it might put some respect in her silly mind. We hate her, we hate her ritual and pomp. And we hate the disrespect.
But we love her. So she will be taught.
If only we had the strength.
Air attacks are clumsy, her legs lethal. Leaping into battle is ill-advised. Her hands are fast, but clenched together. We'll have a half-second to attack before they can react, and we will make use of it. She is a statue of power, with skin as hard as steel and the strength to lift buildings. So we will put it to the test.
My first strike is clumsy, testing the damage with a kidney shot. I am hurt, but my body will function. I do the unexpected, then, and claim a fistfull of the witchling's hair, so often grasped in love. With it in hand, I attempt to drive her lovely face down to my knee - and if she will not move, I will bring my knee to her with the full weight of my spinning body.
How dare she pray.
[Dark Side Points gained]
- F -
If there was nothing else in my life that I ever knew, I would know anger. I would know hatred, and fear, and resentment. They were the first things I knew, emotions that burned inside me as I crawled like a mewling child from the primordial vat of my cloning tank and awoke, formed but broken, on stone slab beneath a dead woman's castle. These little trickles of Dark power were the first things that ever gave me comfort in life; that the one who saved me from them now uses them against me must be an irony of a sort.
I can see her burning in the air, in the indescribable haze of the Force. I can feel her fire light the world around her like a bonfire, that familiar Rage that I've long since turned away. She doesn't understand what she's doing, but I'm left with my own choice in the hours that it takes for her to move: do I stop my beloved from starting down the path I dread, or do I celebrate that she has finally given into the Force?
I saved myself. She saved me. I pray only that together, we can save her as well. I let her be. I will let her thrive.
Her power comes as a bit of a surprise to me. The first attack is nothing, and my hand moves to intercept almost of its own free will. The Force provides, and moves my body before I know where to move it to. I catch her fist as my eyes snap open to meet her gaze, one final attempt to show her what I've been attempting to show her all along. Unfortunately, she doesn't seem keen on learning.
Fingers in my hair. In any softer situation, this might disable me entirely, but now it's simply something she's decided to do. She needs to feel this, just as well as every other emotion, to discover which ones are safe and which lead to dangerous paths. I allow myself to be slammed against her leg, though I wrench my face to one side in an attempt to keep her from knocking out any teeth.
My skin is the Force, a technique I have been attempting to teach her for months. The Force provides, but skin is still skin. My teeth cut into it as it slams into the side of my mouth, and when I stumble back a few feet and stand, I can feel my blood on my own tongue. My cheek is raw, very probably bruised, but this is nothing more than a speed bump. The Force provides.
Instead, I give her a stern look. I wish once more that my voice is capable of being as stern, as a mouse can rarely guide a lion. "What you've felt, now that you've awakened yourself in the Force, is something much more dangerous than anger. What you feel is the Force, but a corruption of it. It's not adrenaline that burns in your veins, but the base lust for power, the need to prove yourself."
My feet betray me but for a moment, and I quickly return to a stand. "It is good that you've felt this, Lynn. It should show you a side of yourself that you knew existed, but never wanted to consider." My hands come up, one in the other. I crack them together, the pops of my knuckles far too loud in the moment after violence. "And if you let it control you, I will always be there to stop you."
@[member="Lynn Caromed"]
Months away seemed to have done very little to stall out the perpetual motion engine that was the bizarre chemistry of Fabula and Lynn. The first night together had been...interesting, as Fabs seemed to have a bit of a short memory as far as intimacy went. However, waking up in someone else's arms hadn't changed. It was still a blissful feeling, a sensation unto heaven.
Unfortunately, both of them were early risers. As much as it was spectacular to have some time to themselves, eventually Fabula's drive won out over her ability to cuddle, and she decided to wander outside to train in the morning sun.
Loose pants and a tightly-wrapped white cloth to keep her chest under control offered her enough mobility to get a proper grasp on her stances, transitions, and movements. She didn't much mind the lack of modesty; no one would find them here, and there was no part of her body that Lynn didn't already know quite well.
Every movement, slow and gradual, served as a conduit for the Force. Each stance she assumed turned her into a lightning rod of her own internal reservoir of energy. It wasn't the forms themselves that was most important, though they certainly helped.
No, it was the intent behind them, the personal drive to be the absolute best that she could be. Not the best a woman could be, or the best a human could be; the best that Fabula Cavataio could be, and nothing less. Not punching through a board, or jumping over a hedge, but transcending beyond that. Form and function blended into a single, perfect whole. Nothing less would be acceptable.
And, naturally, that left her quite distracted when Lynn finally decided to find out what the buggery Fabs was doing.
- L -
Not that it was any real mystery. One didn't involve herself with a perfect engine of destruction without becoming used to the ways and methods that engine kept itself well-tuned. When Fabula woke up and busied herself, Lynn had allowed herself a couple more minutes of blissful sleep before It began commanding her to stop being so lazy. As It always won, this morning was no exception.
Lynn didn't mind much. This little getaway they'd found on a relatively untouched planet offered a stunning view in every direction. An ancient hardwood forest that might continue forever in every direction - save the south, where it melted away to a beach. Clean air and a flawless sunrise were reasons enough to be here, but Fabula's form highlighted by the rising sun was more than enough reason to get out of bed.
In tight shorts and a simple white top, Lynn took a long moment to appreciate the offered view before stifling a yawn and striding quietly up beside the Dathomari woman. Wordlessly, she went through her own forms - mirroring Fabula's stances and katas, feeling her muscles and joints awaken from a long night of sleep.
- F -
Ah, Lynn. Fabs' muscles almost gave out just by -seeing- her, let alone watching her join in the exercises they'd devised together. If she didn't worry about setting a proper example, she'd be content just to watch Lynn in motion for hours. Days. The idea was enough to set her heart aflutter.
But she didn't have that luxury. So instead, she stretched out. One arm coiled back in a tight flex, opposite arm and leg forward and tensed. She stood in position for a long moment, then looked over to see Lynn and make sure she was properly formed.
Well...she was -obviously- well-formed. But also that.
- L -
Fabula Cavataio was very capable in the ways of the Force - no sapient being could doubt that, with even a cursory knowledge of the woman and what she'd done. Lynn wasn't. Sure, she might be able to make something of herself in an Academy with a decade or so of training, but she was too divided to be a Knight of either side of the spectrum - too familiar with killing to be a Jedi, too principled and controlled to be a Sith. So she hadn't.
Lynn Caromed had killed for a long time, in a great many ways. Granted, her weapons of choice were twin blades, but her body was sharpened just as readily. She took a half-step back and slowly extended her arms over her head. They were brought in, taut and tense, with a breath.
A moment to appreciate the hair-trigger readiness of her body, it's stretching and warming up complete.
And then, motion.
Lynn spun in place and whipped her leg up in a mocha blur, just over Fabula's head: a warning shot. A fighter did not become good at fighting by doing slow poses - they needed to test themselves against worthy opponents. A kick would be as clear a green light as anything else, and Lynn's next spin-kick aimed itself at her lover's midsection.
- F -
There are eddies in the Force, moments and movements that no mortal word can describe. Often, scholars attempt to use the term "ripples," but there is no mass to it. A single sensation, a solitary "ripple," can often say more about how one should react than decades of training. Such awareness came in handy when one's opponent was -already- tensed from stretches.
Fabula easily ducked the first kick, feeling the wind rush past her head as her hair whipped about on Lynn's leg. It probably could've given her quite the bruise if it had landed and also if Fabula's skin wasn't bulletproof and self-repairing. A single quick motion put her out of the way, but also left her vulnerable to Lynn's follow-up.
Rather than attempt to avoid it again, Fabs brought her hand down to grip Lynn's ankle just a bit tightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to stop her still. It was hard to limit her strength so as not to seriously injure her lover, and as such she didn't have a strong enough grip to prevent the other woman from moving.
She did, however, have a strong enough grip to sling her ebony amazon's leg upwards, forcing her into a non-consensual backflip. Fabula quickly took a step back and reset her stance, toughening her flesh to make it less dangerous for the Mandalorian to go all-out. "Second kick was a predictable follow-through. Concentrate on your mix-up."
- L -
"The second kick was a courtesy. You rely on the Force too much - without it, we'd be worth ten of you." Lynn replied blandly, momentarily forgetting that she was one being. That tended to happen. She was more focused on things that weren't not being crazy. Like smoothly landing on her feet in a tight brawler's stance, her hands up and in loose fists.
Like judging her girlfriend's stance. Pondering her next move. It didn't take long - Lynn had been fighting and killing her adult life, after all. Sure, the ripples and acrobatics were a new thing, but Mandolorians were nothing of not proficient in picking up new toys and adding them to a burgeoning arsenal. Ask your Mando friend how many secret bombs and flamethrowers he carries sometime.
No, Lynn was fairly confident that Fabula's edge (and it was an impressive edge) was the Force, and little else. Once she caught up in her proficiency with mystical energy, she'd be able to disabuse Fabula of the notion that she wasn't capable of fighting both their battles on her behalf. That was Lynn's plan, anyway.
She lunged forward, sending a flurry of tight jabs at Fabula's sternum and jaw, temples and nose. "Tighten... your martial skill! You're a sloppy fighter! No finesse!" Lynn replied pointedly, bobbing and weaving like a champion boxer, harrying Fabula's defenses.
- F -
What she lacked in finesse, Fabula made up for in the ability to feel the future and superhuman speed. Her blocks were rudimentary, even ugly, but not a single blow got through. As Lynn's fists came close to coming into contact with the Dathomiri's face, her forearms were simply there, in the way, and far too capable of taking punishment.
Unfortunately, Lynn was right. She had no form at all, apart from the seemingly random stances she assumed to channel her energy. Not a single blow got through, but when Fabula made her counterattack, it was telegraphed and uncoordinated...
And came at about Mach III.
Fabs hoped beyond hope that simple velocity couldn't cause bone fractures, because the little hopping overhead kick that she slung towards Lynn's face. There was no name for it, no theory behind it. She simply waved her foot in the air -REALLY- fast.
When she landed, her expression was just a little pouty. "I know I'm not much of a fighter. But the Force is a greater ally than any mortal martial art." She set back into her stance, hands up close to her face but in no proper form. "If you'd embrace that instead of fighting it, you would be a much greater fighter than me, Lynn."
- L -
If Fabula had sent a punch or a smaller kick that didn't require every muscle in her body to react before it could be sent, this would have been a much shorter post, ending with Lynn's body broken and bleeding under the force of a single blow. Thankfully, Lynn saw the attack coming, and slid to Fabula's left - preventing that same leg from adjusting trajectory and coming for her.
"We have been working on it." Lynn promised. "But it is a temperamental and finicky tool, and I don't like it. A weapon should respond to it's wielder's will - not be defined by and reactionary to it." She took a half-step back, shaking out her hand from the stiffness that'd come from punching a rock-hard woman's forearms. "That is why we're doing this together, isn't it?"
"I learn how to move with your Force - and you learn how to fight!" Lynn darted in again, closing the distance between them - to make whistling kicks harder to pull off. "Tuck in your guard - always defend your face! And tighten your profile, so you present less of a target!" She barked instructions, hands flashing in a series of open-handed and non-lethal (to even a normal human) strikes. Her elbows, however, were the punchline to half of these 'jokes', sharp and hard as steel, driven for the vulnerable throat, eyes and breasts.
- F -
Fabula tried in earnest to actually follow Lynn's advice. When she closed in, Fabula kept her hands over her face and pulled her arms in tight...er. She was still wide and sloppy. And now she couldn't react as fast. It was only through fortune of what Lynn was aiming at that she was able to defend herself with such a tight form.
Fortunately, she didn't really need to defend herself much. The Force pulsed through her like a trillion oscillations of infinite energy. Each blow she took was little more than a thump on her skin, and the elbow strike to her face quite fortunately grazed across her eyebrow to do little more than turn her head a few inches to the side.
Her eye winced for a moment before she pulled back her body to give two heavy punches, wildly in front of her and vaguely in the direction of Lynn's torso. With that out of the way, she took a deep breath and put actual effort into standing back into the stance Lynn had attempted to get her to do, using the motion move her focus just a bit to what might have been a bruise around noon.
It wouldn't be now.
"Lynn, you're thinking too much. Feel. Feel the Force in your body, in your arms. Feel the air, and me." Her fists clinched a little tighter. "You won't get anything done if you don't hit me harder than that, and only through giving yourself over to the Force, letting it guide you, will you find that strength."
- L -
Flowing, Lynn could do. Motion, she could be. But surrendering her body to some metaphysical intuition? Yeah, she struggled with that a little bit. A Mandolorian's body was a machine, her attacks a carefully calculated series of strikes to bring death and victory. How could she read her opponent's form if she was too busy focusing on her own? How could she think steps ahead if she was thinking about inner peace, or whatever nonsense?
But the point was true, that Lynn could beat on Fabula all day and still get nothing done aside from bruising her own hands. That, and get frustrated at a lack of actual instruction. If Fabula had told her to stand or attack a specific way, it would have been easy to follow direction.
"Of COURSE I feel the air." Lynn complained, taking a half step back and switching her tight pugilist's stance into a looser, wider form. With her legs slightly apart and relaxed at the knees, her hands open in front of herself, the Mandolorian woman forced herself to calm down and take a deep breath. Yes, she was frustrated. No, it wasn't Fabula's fault that she was apparently a slow student.
She wished she had her beskar. It was much easier to feel the Force with her blades in hand, which was part of the reason she'd insisted on forgoing them. No crutches.
- F -
Fabula broke into motion like a sonic boom: loud, impossible to ignore, and without anything being there moments ago. She lurched forward in a blink, starting with a punch downwards at Lynn's forehead, another towards the center of her chest, then a quick kick from a standing spin. The whole thing took less than two seconds.
She didn't bother to recover quickly, instead setting her stance in due time. Each of her attacks came with actual power this time, to offset how much slower she'd launched them than before. She practically cut the air with the force of her blows, but hopefully it wouldn't be enough to cause severe pain to Lynn. Hopefully.
"You know the air exists because you feel it on your skin, but you don't feel it within you," Fabula's expression managed something of a tired grin. "You know that I exist because you see and hear me, but you don't feel me in front of you. You have no idea what I'm going to do before I do it."
She straightened up into a neutral stand, no form or function. "Take a moment and focus, Lynn. Use a stance that's important to you; one that your family taught you. Close your eyes and feel yourself."
Fabula practiced as she preached, pressing her hands together in a tight prayer and closing her eyes. It was trivially simple for her to feel her own body; it would've been harder for her to -stop-. "Now extend your senses into the air around you. Your eyes will deceive you. The Force will not."
- L -
All of the breathing exercises in the Universe are ill preparation when a woman comes at you with enough force to casually implode an asteroid. Lynn did her best to keep her one-ness through the first stroke, dipping her head to the side to evade it. The second wasn't so lucky, and all that Force-nonsense disappeared like so much mist as she felt her sternum crack. The impact stunned her, and delayed her reactions - Fabula's kick sent her spinning across the ground like a ragdoll, covered in dust and possibly spraining her wrist.
When she came up - which was the very second she physically could - Lynn grimaced at the pain in her chest and put a hand to it. Same as last time, just not good enough.
Just not good enough.
I may not know or understand the Force, but it has undeniable power. I can feel that power in every limb: not as a wholesome strength, but akin to the dull ache of sexual frustration or a bitter day's work. Most of that is the simple strain of taking two direct hits from a living God.
It quails against her. It hates her and loves her, and when I'm around her, It is confused. She makes me better, but she doesn't deserve what she has. Hard work should always be rewarded, as any Mandolorian knows - so why has she been handed such strength? Such power, she doesn't deserve or use well. The Force gives her might that she uses like a clumsy bludgeon, and thinks herself a warrior, and for this It has nothing but hate for her.
And that hate aches in my belly as though a furnace has been placed there. Hate gives me motivation to stand when I aught to stay down. Pride in my abilities, and resentment that she can never know about. Because I love her.
I care little for what she's saying - it's mostly nonsense. Silly things I barely understand, much less anything I can use. What I can use is the insult that lights a fire. It blazes down my spine and empowers my battered frame, lighting that furnace into a raging inferno. We are sparring - this is a test between fighters, this is training, and it is SACRED. And yet, she prays. She stops, lowers her guard, and dismisses my skill completely.
How dare she.
Our feet are in motion before we know it, legs and arms pumping in time. Although bare feet don't make much noise on soft ground, she'll hear us coming. That's fine. We want that. Maybe it might put some respect in her silly mind. We hate her, we hate her ritual and pomp. And we hate the disrespect.
But we love her. So she will be taught.
If only we had the strength.
Air attacks are clumsy, her legs lethal. Leaping into battle is ill-advised. Her hands are fast, but clenched together. We'll have a half-second to attack before they can react, and we will make use of it. She is a statue of power, with skin as hard as steel and the strength to lift buildings. So we will put it to the test.
My first strike is clumsy, testing the damage with a kidney shot. I am hurt, but my body will function. I do the unexpected, then, and claim a fistfull of the witchling's hair, so often grasped in love. With it in hand, I attempt to drive her lovely face down to my knee - and if she will not move, I will bring my knee to her with the full weight of my spinning body.
How dare she pray.
[Dark Side Points gained]
- F -
If there was nothing else in my life that I ever knew, I would know anger. I would know hatred, and fear, and resentment. They were the first things I knew, emotions that burned inside me as I crawled like a mewling child from the primordial vat of my cloning tank and awoke, formed but broken, on stone slab beneath a dead woman's castle. These little trickles of Dark power were the first things that ever gave me comfort in life; that the one who saved me from them now uses them against me must be an irony of a sort.
I can see her burning in the air, in the indescribable haze of the Force. I can feel her fire light the world around her like a bonfire, that familiar Rage that I've long since turned away. She doesn't understand what she's doing, but I'm left with my own choice in the hours that it takes for her to move: do I stop my beloved from starting down the path I dread, or do I celebrate that she has finally given into the Force?
I saved myself. She saved me. I pray only that together, we can save her as well. I let her be. I will let her thrive.
Her power comes as a bit of a surprise to me. The first attack is nothing, and my hand moves to intercept almost of its own free will. The Force provides, and moves my body before I know where to move it to. I catch her fist as my eyes snap open to meet her gaze, one final attempt to show her what I've been attempting to show her all along. Unfortunately, she doesn't seem keen on learning.
Fingers in my hair. In any softer situation, this might disable me entirely, but now it's simply something she's decided to do. She needs to feel this, just as well as every other emotion, to discover which ones are safe and which lead to dangerous paths. I allow myself to be slammed against her leg, though I wrench my face to one side in an attempt to keep her from knocking out any teeth.
My skin is the Force, a technique I have been attempting to teach her for months. The Force provides, but skin is still skin. My teeth cut into it as it slams into the side of my mouth, and when I stumble back a few feet and stand, I can feel my blood on my own tongue. My cheek is raw, very probably bruised, but this is nothing more than a speed bump. The Force provides.
Instead, I give her a stern look. I wish once more that my voice is capable of being as stern, as a mouse can rarely guide a lion. "What you've felt, now that you've awakened yourself in the Force, is something much more dangerous than anger. What you feel is the Force, but a corruption of it. It's not adrenaline that burns in your veins, but the base lust for power, the need to prove yourself."
My feet betray me but for a moment, and I quickly return to a stand. "It is good that you've felt this, Lynn. It should show you a side of yourself that you knew existed, but never wanted to consider." My hands come up, one in the other. I crack them together, the pops of my knuckles far too loud in the moment after violence. "And if you let it control you, I will always be there to stop you."
@[member="Lynn Caromed"]